The Addict

The Addict

By Joshua Morrell

I saw Todd in a dream by a pool table

in a bar enveloped in a green and red light.

In the dream he did not have a tattoo on his neck

nor did he seem like he was on trial

or imprisoned by his own thoughts.

No.

He was clear.

Happy.

His hair was red and clean.

I said, “Todd, you look great!”

Todd said, “So do you!”

In my dream,

He seemed to be helping me out

instead of me feeding him

a roast beef sandwich.

Did I mention that?

About two years before Todd died

he was homeless and lived

in the woods by the river in my hometown.

I worked as a cook at a restaurant

across from the river and twice,

twice, Todd decided to walk

over to the restaurant for some food.

I gave him what I could.

Day old roast beef

and almost

stale

homemade

bread.

I had to dodge my boss

every time Todd was there

because he hated him.

My boss hated Todd.

It’s funny — we were all on the

same basketball team as kids

and my father was the coach —

Todd, Me and my Boss.

On the same team.

My boss now hated him

and didn’t care if he lived or died.

After that memory

my dream

didn’t seem important.

But later on

when I went home

or when I was in a good place

I remembered the dream

and kept on going and

chose to smile fondly

and miss my friend.